Set On Pilgrimage

Although pilgrimages are taken the world over, they have never meant much to me, but…

We live just off of a street named Chalma where this last week thousands of people traveled on an annual pilgrimage. Many were walking, some rode bicycles, others rode in the back of trucks or in buses. All were headed for the small village of Chalma about an hour’s drive from our home. It was there in 1533 that a miraculous image of Jesus "appeared" in a cave thus making it site for an annual pilgrimage. (The truth be known it is the exact site where the indigenous people made the same annual pilgrimage wearing flowers, carrying incense burners, bathing in the river and then entering the cave to make offerings to a statute of Ozteltl, the Dark Lord of the Cave.)

Beginning a week before Ash Wednesday, thousands make this pilgrimage in the hope and the belief that they will receive a divine blessing for their effort and sacrifice. Many endure this struggle of climbing up the mountain in the hot sun during the day and sleeping in the open air at night. It is customary during this time to also make vows, hang newborn's umbilical cords on an ancient Ahuehuete tree, bathe in the river, and dance around crosses and the sacred tree.

Here are a few scenes that stirred me:

*As I pulled in at our local Oxxo for ice cream late one evening a wave of emotion washed over me as I saw the whole area full of pilgrims bedding down for the night. After singing together, praying and crossing themselves, they laid down on the cold concrete pulling up a thin blanket to wait out the night.

*They made a little detour off the beaten path and were passing by our house. The younger woman looked very much like a granddaughter watching over her aged grandmother. How many times had the older woman made this trip before? Why at her age did she feel like she needed to make it again? Both looked tired, hopeless, and out of place.

*The day was drawing to a close as Diana and I finished up an evening walk. There before us was a young couple resting. He was holding a baby and she was sitting on a stack of blankets looking very weary. As we approached she stood and they once again began their journey. My heart sank knowing there was no way for them to make their destination before nightfall. They would have to sleep alone out on the ground that night with their baby.

Although pilgrimages are taken the world over they have never meant much to me, but then again my heart has never been touched as it has now.